Every Girl I've Loved A Lifetime Ago

Angelique

I drank her poison, bit blessings into her collarbone, inhaled her pine essence.
She stared at sunrise, she carried me into dusk, she left my skin aching and my stomach empty.
Her eyes lit up like fireflies in love , she tasted like dry cherry wine and clementines, and her voice was honeysuckle and bumble bees.
Angelique was early, on fire, fueled my panic.
Angelique was bone tired, an incomplete jigsaw puzzle, she swayed alone and her laugh stuttered out.
Angelique was a shotgun in a knife fight, an adrenaline junkie, earthy and lonely and hungry.
I've done nothing but want Angelique since I laid eyes on her, she was mine intangible and divine, I wouldn't hurt her no matter how sweetly she asked.
Her eyes were haunting, hallowing, wise.
She was a daffodil, a model, a figurine made of glass and paint.
She was an off-white miracle, a jasmine tea rebel, the kind of girl who'd laugh as the world ended.
Our bodies crushed, crashed, clashed together harmoniously.
I'd recognize the pattern of her breathing anywhere.
She was my dream god, my scarlet angel, she was a warning.
Nuclear bombs, Midas touch, tidal waves.
She was a storybook. I just haven't read the ending.
Spray tan, ivory smile, heart ache.
And suddenly there's a ring on my finger and vows tattooed on my heart.
She doesn't sway alone anymore and her laughs full and loud.
She's a lotus flower, silver bullet, my target.
She's eager and unfair and a martyr.
We're entangled, it's the season of love, and she's fruit punch.
My life with Angelique was blurry and fast. My head was scrambled but my heart was beating for her.
I wasn't thinking clearly, but I didn't care.
My family and friends though I was going crazy, but they couldn't see her magic.
We lived at her place, feathers in our hair and diamonds encrusting our solo cups.
Country clubs, Ray Charles, tennis courts, and designer drugs.
Angelique owned a McMansion and a chain of convenience stores that had been in her family for generations.
I quit my day job at the ice cream shop but I kept the skintight teal uniform.
Angelique's grandfather was like a grumpy, pretentious dragon who set everything in his sight aflame.
We felt grown up and youthful, alive but dead, exhausted yet wide awake.
Our vision was as cloudy as our thoughts, high on adrenaline, drunk on lust.
Angelique was all I wanted, all I needed. She was what I craved to find.
Angelique was beautiful and bitter and brave.
Her skin was a gleaming bronze, her eyes achingly intelligent, her lips a rosebud.
Angelique wore canvas sneakers, graphic tees, and sunflowers tucked under her ears.
And suddenly we were turning 22 and our whole life flashed between our eyes.
The rings on our fingers held more weight, we became more aware that the vows tattooed on our hearts were permanent.
I was afraid, clutching that degree in my red painted nails.
I was a live wire, sitting in that chair, wearing Angelique's father's suit and tie, answering questions about the work ethic I supposedly have.
I was content, planting my face on the curve of Angelique's neck, clutching her waist, whispering into her ear, smiling at her smile, running my fingers through her hair.
Angelique was a masochistic waterfall.
A sick, unchained tiger whose stripes were painted on by a colorblind child.
Angelique was a religious gangster with heart who lived in a golden trailer park.
Angelique was my wife, my life, that's how she'd stay until the end.
I think, mamá, that I understand now.